


shatter me

by greymahariel (acceptnosubstitutes)



Series: command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Companionship, Friendship, Gen, Hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3117884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acceptnosubstitutes/pseuds/greymahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and the Iron Bull...hug it out. </p><p>I'm being completely, 100% serious. Ridiculous fluff, that's what this is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shatter me

**Author's Note:**

> I like unusual and interesting character interactions? Title’s from a song - [ Shatter Me ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49tpIMDy9BE) (Lzzy Hale) by Lindsey Stirling.

The tread of metal on stone behind him makes his eyes flick open, but he’d heard him coming long before some whim, surely, drew him to the Undercroft as well. Though, to be honest, the Iron Bull is a little hard not to hear coming.

While, in contrast, Solas slips by the consciousness so easily it seems almost magic. Ironic, then, he simply walks light, senses sharp, watching watching _watching_.

“Is there something I can do for you, Iron Bull?”

It is surely one of the rare few times they’ve even spoken to each other. Outside of battle, where also by some inexplicable whim, Inquisitor Lavellan often asks them along during his myriad, exhaustive ventures wherever. Together.

“Not really,” Bull says.

Well then. There isn’t, indeed, some law banning certain people from congregating in particular areas. And they are, as Solas never expected he’d hear himself think, companions. After all.

Solas blocks him out, which isn’t especially hard because the qunari seems content simply to...he extends his senses, tentatively around. Stand there. Gazing out into the open, winter air, frozen lake, and the expansive fields of white.

Some war, or perhaps more accurately, many a war ripped a giant chunk of masonry from Skyhold’s underbelly. The Fade around Skyhold is, as always, uncertain, hard to interpret. One moment there’s harmony, the high, melodious ringing from every stone so _achingly_ familiar...the next: swamped, dark, and dim. Thunderous applause among the shifting, grinding giveaway of stone on stone.

It gives him a headache.

Which is the entire reason he is here, perched, crosslegged, on the ragged edge of where the floor of the Undercroft drops away into a yawning chasm below. If he fell from here, there is a eighty percent chance he’d hit ice, and a twenty percent chance frozen, snowy ground.

Doesn’t even really know what to do with the morbidity of his thoughts.

Meditation. Yes. Straighten the spine, close the eyes, breathe in strong but not too deep, exhale. Clear the mind.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat…

Solas opens his eyes again, cross. It would help if he could, in fact, clear his mind. There isn’t even anything of importance there right now. He can’t concentrate. Can’t hold onto the ghosts of thoughts that _feel_ important, the bits of things that feel lost trickling away.

Instead it's - the hard, cold stone against his backside; five minutes ago dangling his legs over the edge for no particular reason other than he could; the cold; the itch of his tunic suddenly seeming to scrape against his skin; Lavellan.

Chaos, chaotic, and he can’t find the cord; the thread, the green glow, familiar as the hand by his side, tether to his center. It could be Lavellan now.

Lavellan, Lavellan, _Lavellan_.

Solas turns his head to the side. By chance his eyes flicker sideways and catch the form of the hulking giant sharing this space with him.

Their eyes meet. Solas would look away, would move on, would do...something, but meditation has failed. Disgusting tea has failed. Lavellan…

“Is there something I can do for _you_ , Solas?”

Solas regards him impassively. Perhaps.

“Iron Bull,” he says, “you...watch. Or, perhaps more accurately, read people. Read the others - their words, their body language, what they do, what they don’t do.”

Bull inclines his head.

“Important bit of my job,” he says, quirking a smile that slowly fades. “Why do you ask?”

“You read the others,” Solas repeats.

Ah, and Bull nods his head.

“But not you.”

Solas finally turns his gaze away, back down into the chasm. Hears Bull draw near, not quite settle down in a similar position; cloth rustling, metal, a disturbance in the long calm, unhurried flow of air. A slowly exhaled sigh.

“Your privacy.”

And Solas tilts his head, but does not look back. Iron Bull will understand the gesture easily enough. It is...relieving, speaking to someone he does not necessarily need to look in the eye. To get a point across.

“I don’t know what it is,” Bull says, slowly, “and I’m not inclined to ask. Magic shit. But there it is. Privacy, though, the type I know well to leave alone.”

Fair enough. Still…

Solas turns his whole body this time, shifting so he can put Bull in his line of vision. 

“And if I asked you, anyway?”

Bull regards him gravely for a few moments. The type of look he gives Lavellan sometimes, those moments Solas is privy to, like there’s a puzzle he’s working out in his mind and the golden eyed redhead is the shiny piece that fills in the blank spots.

Then he moves, unfurling long grey arms out into the air.

Solas blinks. He can’t possibly…

“So, come here already,” Bull says.

Oh. He can.

Bull snorts at the expression on his face. His arms remain where they are.

“It’s not all just about sex, Solas.”

“I know not to which you refer,” Solas mutters.

Liar.

But after a considering moment, what does he actually have to lose? So he sighs, but climbs onto his knees (they’re really somewhat close, when did that happen) and gives Bull a long, searching stare.

The qunari raises a lofty eyebrow. Egging him on. Then smirks. Get it, Solas? _Egg_.

Solas rolls his eyes, but he’s heard it all before. He, in steps, moves forward the rest of the way, muffled surprise when Bull’s arms come around him and totally eliminate boundaries.

Shouldn’t have been.

It is, at first, highly uncomfortable. Solas does not let people this close. Ever. Particularly not giant, horned men who eye free will like it can be taken and health remain. 

Iron Bull is...warm. Perhaps Solas has simply missed touch this much, it comes across like the smouldering embers of one of their dying campfires. Fading away in the morning onset of blue.

He is solid. If a bit...squishy. An odd thing to think, for him, and the snort escapes before he realizes that, to a spy, anything is a _reaction_. 

Still, Bull remains quiet, and it’s the squishy parts, actually, that make Solas relax, close his eyes again. 

Not the hard, cold stone. Airy lightness of the Fade. Both seemingly real but also illusionary all at once.

No, Bull is undeniably in the here and now, and nowhere else.

That’s like a center.

“ _Ma serannas_.”

“Any time.”


End file.
